No Denying It
by blueowls
Summary: Brittany x Santana. //Mike is good to her and Santana is Santana, which says everything about her.//


**Author Note:** So, I usually use three dashes to mark a break, but FF is leaving them out and screwing up my stories. I really have no patience to go back and fix everything since I use LJ and FF is kind of where I dump things when I remember to.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**No Denying It  
**

Mike is good to her and Santana is Santana, which says everything about her. It's not that she does anything wrong, because she doesn't. Santana just functions differently and it stands out even more because Mike's such a nice guy, especially for a football player. Santana was snaking a hand down her Cheerio skirt the first time they made out—not that Brittany was complaining—while Mike seemed to be afraid to touch her.

When Brittany thinks about it, that might have been because of Santana.

Brittany breathes out slowly and wipes damp bangs from her forehead, tilting her head back and sucking in air greedily as she leans back against Mike, feeling his hands slide over her waist and pull her closer. Puck's house is packed and the music drowns out any possible conversation, but Brittany knows exactly where Santana and Puck are. She peeks over her shoulder, but it's not to look at Mike. Santana's glaring at them from the couch where she's straddling Puck's lap, mouth a tight, bitter line as she knocks his hand off her thigh and pushes herself off of him disgustedly. Santana settles on the couch next to a disappointed Puck, face stormy and arms crossed, and Mike misunderstands. His thumb grazes her cheek as he tilts her head, and Brittany turns around, hands settling on his waist and closing her eyes as he kisses her.

That lasts all of four seconds before someone's jostling roughly against her shoulder, and Brittany steps back, opening her eyes as Santana takes the opportunity presented and slides in between her and Mike. One glare over her shoulder tells Mike that he's not welcome, and Mike backs away, a frown—one of the first Brittany's ever seen—curling his lips.

"It's fine," Brittany assures him loudly over the music with a wave of her hand, and she sees Santana makes a face at her, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed, that Brittany ignores.

"Okay," Mike agrees warily, and he frowns again at Santana quickly before turning, walking away defeatedly. Santana smirks in triumph, but Brittany's not worried. He'll find Puck or Matt and be back later, after Santana's left.

Santana's arms slip around her waist possessively, and Brittany focuses on her, meeting dark eyes that for once don't flick over her shoulder distractedly every two minutes, like something better's going to come along or someone's going to catch them. Brittany's sure Puck's watching them from somewhere, expecting a show that he usually gets, but right now, Santana's only paying attention to her.

"What are you doing?" Brittany asks loudly, a hand curling over Santana's shoulder as she leans close, her mouth against Santana's ear. Santana settles her hands low on Brittany's back, hooking her finger through the belt loops of her jeans and drawing her closer.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Santana asks flatly, lips brushing against Brittany's cheek, and Brittany has to bite her lip, letting her breath out through her nose.

"I'm not sure," she answers shakily.

"I can be that for you," Santana says, and there's something like hurt in her voice. But Brittany can barely follow her own tangents, let alone someone else's, and it's especially hard when Santana pulls back, meeting her eyes seriously.

"Be what?"

"Mike," Santana clarifies, but this time, she doesn't scowl just trying to say his name. Brittany looks away, scanning the crowd, and she finds Puck and Mike in a corner of the crowded living room by luck, heads bowed and talking with cups in their hands. She could make a whole list of reasons why she should pick Mike over Santana, but that's all it would ever be. A list, telling her why she should pick Mike and not why she wants to.

"I thought you didn't want to be," Brittany finally says, looking back at Santana. "We stopped holding hands and stuff."

"Because you said it was gay," Santana snaps defensively, eyes narrowing, and Brittany pauses before she nods slowly, taking a deep breath as her hand slides from Santana's shoulder down her arm. "I thought that was what you wanted."

"I never said gay was a bad thing. You assumed," Brittany says, smiling and sweeping her thumb over Santana's bicep as she looks up. Santana has a stunned look on her face, and Brittany shakes her head in exasperation, trying not to laugh.

Santana does a lot of things without asking, like tilting her head up and kissing her hard, right in the middle of the pressing, sweaty crowd. Quinn thinks Santana's bad for her. She shouldn't be making all the decisions for you, Quinn says flatly when they're alone, and then she makes that little whipping motion and arches an eyebrow. And Brittany would agree and be irritated, maybe, if only Santana weren't always right.

Brittany loops her arms around Santana's neck before nodding, and Santana's moods changes visibly. Her smile is warm and genuine, like it always is around her, and there's no more scowling or rough kisses. Just a hand in hers, fingers laced, and a smile.

"Let's get out of here."

There's no denying Mike is good to her. But Santana is Santana, and Brittany always chooses Santana.


End file.
